


everything that carries me to you

by timber (calculus)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - College/University, Ambiguous Relationships, Art, Navel-Gazing, Non-Linear Narrative, Pining, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 15:20:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15270387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calculus/pseuds/timber
Summary: A list of four art projects from the portfolio of struggling and tired art major, Jeon Wonwoo.





	everything that carries me to you

**Author's Note:**

> if you saw the tag, yes, this is not actually the realized version of what i had intended to write for a fic challenge long long ago (winterfest anyone hahaha), but i thought, it's been sitting in my drafts for so long, i might as well just put it out there
> 
> i did my best to write the fic to somewhat of an ending, but the abruptness is unavoidable given my waning spirits and interest. i hope you can enjoy it regardless.

**iii. _on the tip of your tongue_ , 201x, mixed media on bristol.**

In the beginning of their spring semester, his leading professor calls for a meeting in the lounge room, informal and meant as a check-in on everyone’s status. Wonwoo arrives to the meeting with time to spare, having literally picked himself up from his studio couch, two rooms down and a floor above, with a hastily-pulled-on hoodie and a face mask to hide the fact that he hadn’t brushed his teeth in over two days.

At least seven other students are there before him, having already called the most comfortable seats in the room, leaving only the gushy loveseat near the heating space with the stuffing half-ripped out as Wonwoo’s only option. He gives them the stink-eye, but it’s hard to see through the brim of his oversized hood and the sliding ridges of his glasses. He knows Junhui’s at least the tiniest bit apologetic, given that he’d sent an earlier text to the boy with the frantic plea to save him a seat that won’t put his back out of alignment, but it’s hard to forgive when Junhui’s so cozily snuggled up on the lounge sofa with Jihoon leaning on him like an compact body pillow. Nayoung gives him a fair smile from her perch on the three-seater with Yerin and Sooyoung, but she only nods towards the remaining chair without making any move to give up her own.

Wonwoo sighs, but gingerly sits down on the loveseat, the seat cushion immediately sagging to the side from his weight. A loose spring digs into his back, and he grimaces, shifting fruitlessly to avoid it. 

Shin-gyosunim strides in a few minutes later, briskly, and with a cup of coffee and a stack of papers, and everyone rises to greet her. She waves them to sit back down, impatient as always, and Wonwoo sinks back into his chair with a small grin.

"Alright, I'll keep this quick because the faculty's been on my back about donors, so I need to do phone rounds after this and show up pretty and well-medicated for tonight’s faculty fundraiser. Like I said in the group email, this is just a quick check-in on everyone's projects. If you have any questions or concerns, this is the time to put them out." Shin-gyosunim sets down her cup on a nearby desk, and props herself against the print table, shuffling through the thick stack of papers in her hands.

The room is silent. Wonwoo fidgets in his seat, waiting for someone to speak up and start the conversation, but no one seems willing to put out their concerns first. He tries catching Jihoon's eyes, but Jihoon immediately closes them and mushes his face into Junhui's shoulder instead.

"Okay, how about this? We'll do individual slots, then, and as soon as you're done, you can pike off and take a nap or whatever, good?" Everyone murmurs in assent, and Shin-gyosunim nods with resignation. "Probably should've just put that on the table in the first place. Okay, everyone out; I'll call you by name."

They shuffle out as a pack, dragging feet across the tiles like petulant children, and Wonwoo hangs back until Junhui and Jihoon are in reach before he slings his arms around their necks. Junhui adjusts his weight obligingly, while Jihoon just suffers it with a put-upon sigh.

"Took you long enough to get here, Wonwoo-ssi," Junhui says cheekily, nudging him lightly in the ribs, and Wonwoo scrunches his face at him. The effect is lost though, hidden by the swatch of cloth over his face. He tightens his hold over Junhui instead, smirking at the satisfying choke Junhui lets out. "Okay, okay, yeesh. Don't take it out on me just because you didn't get up on the right side of bed."

Jihoon snorts, and looks at Wonwoo with a knowing curl of his lips. "Nah, this idiot here probably didn't even sleep at all. His last sent text to me was at five in the morning asking if I could tell the difference between hallabong and tangerine peels."

"Maybe I took a nap after," Wonwoo says mildly, ignoring Jihoon's eye-roll. "How do you know?" Jihoon silently pulls out his phone and scrolls through his messages until he pulls up screenshots of Wonwoo's two-hour long conversation with Soonyoung about Soonyoung’s latest dream interpretation, literally minutes before the meeting time. That snitch.

“My question is: how did you get Soonyoung to get up that early to even talk to you for this long?” asks Junhui, raising a brow as he grabs the phone to take a closer look at the conversation. Wonwoo snatches it out of his hands before he can bring it up to his face and hands it back to Jihoon with an annoyed twitch of his eyes.

“You’ve made your point, okay, let’s move on,” he grumbles, ignoring Junhui’s disappointed click. Jihoon snorts, but pockets back his phone and shifts in Wonwoo’s grip. “Talk about your projects instead of me.”

“Uh, besides me trying to brick myself with every wall I meet? Fine,” says Junhui with a deprecating sigh. Wonwoo blinks; Soonyoung had said Junhui’s choreography was coming along well the last time they’d talked. But, Junhui’s always been a perfectionist. “I’ve got parts of the choreo down, which, seriously, is all thanks to Soonyoung and Chan, but Minghao’s been on me to give more input.”

“It _is_ also _your_ senior thesis, Jun, he’s not wrong,” Jihoon says dryly, reaching around Wonwoo to poke at Junhui in the ribs. “Chan’s not gonna be in your shoes for another three years; you should step up your game a bit.”

Junhui grumbles indelicately under his breath, a snatch of soft Mandarin that neither of them can understand, but the gist is clear given his pout and crossed arms. “Yeah, okay. What about you, then, Jihoon-ah? How’s that painting series going?”

“...I have often regretted my decision to double major in music production and fine arts, but never so much as I do now,” Jihoon says slowly, like every inch of his soul is painfully crumbling away from him. Wonwoo huffs a laugh and pats him.

“I mean, there has to be some sort of downside to having this much genius, right? To make it fair for the rest of us squares,” Junhui muses, and giggles, pulling away to avoid Jihoon’s swipe. “Oh come on! Back me up here, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo just shrugs, half his attention sliding away to pay attention to the click of the door and Shin-gyosunim’s no-nonsense voice calling out their names. He ignores Jihoon’s triumphant face, and pokes Junhui instead. “You’re up, Junnie. Try not to get slaughtered.”

Junhui squawks and pushes him, but goes, shoulders slouched as he heads into the chopping room. Wonwoo snickers a little and settles himself when the door closes, sliding down onto the tiled floor. He pats the dusty space next to him, and Jihoon wavers a moment before following, grumbling about his pants.

“...So,” Jihoon says after a few minutes of silence, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers. Wonwoo tilts his head at him and just watches, content to wait. “Two hours, huh?”

Wonwoo stares blankly at him. Jihoon makes a face and punches him in the shoulder. “It’s only a thirty-minute meeting….”

“No, you numbnut, and don’t be obtuse either.” Jihoon huffs, exasperated and crosses his arms, tapping impatient fingers. “I mean with Soonyoung. You could’ve just taken an actual nap, you know.”

“...You know, Jun’s taking a real long time in there,” Wonwoo says finally, averting his eyes to the ceiling. Peripherally, he can see Jihoon throw his hands up, muttering to himself, but he just stares harder at the swirled grout of the tiles until Jihoon nudges him.

“Fine, whatever. I’m not your therapist, anyway,” Jihoon snaps, and Wonwoo bites his lip, curbing the defensive responsive immediate on his tongue. “Did you get any more work done on your portraits, at least?”

He thinks about the stacks of bristol on his printing table, the rejected samples of his first few prints, and the mountain of crumpled-up scrap paper balls in the corner of his studio, all sad and messy with his furious scribbles. He thinks of the five different burned screens he has sitting in the sink, waiting to be sprayed down, and the other three screens stacked on the floor by his studio desk, staring at him with their inverted eyes. He thinks of the one finished piece that he’d fucking _given away_ to Soonyoung because he’d liked the prototype and wanted to give it to his sister for a Christmas present, and Wonwoo just swallows.

“It’s going,” is all he says, and Jihoon lets him leave it at that.

 

At a quarter past two in the morning, Wonwoo drops his head down onto a clean spot of the print table and groans. His prints lay on the drying rack, gently helped along by the giant fan by the mid-room door of the printmaking station, but Wonwoo's already gone through four copies and tore through two. He wonders if he shouldn't just call it quits and actually go back to his apartment for once. Maybe sleep in the nice, soft bed with a back-supporting mattress instead of the lumpy couch in the studio lounge.

He nudges the print in front of him, half finished with two transfers of his original halftone portrait and his meticulously-drawn lines in pastel. The girl on his paper stares up at him with doe eyes, her pink lips a bright contrast to the rest of the black-ink detail, and it makes up his mind. It's bedtime.

Wonwoo rushes through clean-up, immensely grateful that he'd the foresight to lay newsprint under his work before starting. Everything is easily tossed away, and he caps away leftover mixed paint and puts away his pastels and mixers. The squeegees and scrapers are rinsed and set to dry, though Wonwoo makes sure to hide the 60-durometer one in his studio so he can have first dibs when he comes back. After doing one more sweep of the station, he closes his laptop and walks back to his studio to grab his bag and keys.

The building is empty save him, and he whistles to himself as he shrugs on his coat, a puffy white down jacket stolen from Soonyoung's closet, listening as the high notes echo and fade into the air. Wonwoo double-checks his pockets for his phone and wallet, and then does one last walk-around, shutting off any lights and pulling out plugs left by errant students. Then he locks up the four sets of doors to the building, the entrance his last one in the sudden chill of late night, and starts the trek to his apartment.

At this time, all subways have stopped running, so Wonwoo has to amuse himself for a good twenty minutes in the brisk cold, scrolling through his instagram feed as he lopes down the empty streets. Not for the first time, he thanks whoever's listening that Soonyoung had listened to him when he offered up their current apartment location instead of the one Soonyoung had wanted with the larger living space because that would've probably taken him another fifteen minutes. As it is, Wonwoo's already huddling into the short neck of his jacket, phone stowed away in a pocket along with his curled fists, wishing for spring to come.

Eventually, his apartment complex comes into sight, and Wonwoo puffs out a sigh of relief, visible and frosty. It takes another five minutes to walk up the stairs, the elevators under maintenance, but they're thankfully only two floors up. He opens the door carefully, trying his best not to startle Soonyoung awake, given their almost-inappropriately thin walls, and steps out of his shoes in the foyer before padding onto the warm floors of the hallway leading into their apartment. Wonwoo shrugs off his backpack and jacket, but just before he slings his arm to toss them both onto the living room couch, the familiar shock of bleach-blond hair greets him.

Soonyoung's still asleep, at least, deep enough that Wonwoo's soft thump of his backpack on the ground doesn't stir him. There's a mess around him: opened bags of snacks and an empty ramyeon pot with the lid overturned on the floor by the couch, textbooks haphazardly strewn over the low-rise table in the middle of the room, and his banged-up laptop off to the side by his fingers hanging over the couch arm. Wonwoo does his best to walk around the crumbs and wrappers, holding out his jacket to cover Soonyoung's torso as a makeshift blanket.

He drops down to eye-level with Soonyoung, adjusting the raised hem of Soonyoung's thin tee and gingerly removing the squished wad of notes between Soonyoung's ear and the couch cushions. Then, he tucks his jacket over Soonyoung carefully, brushing away errant crumbs over an exposed soft belly, and holding back a grin when his cold fingers brush over warm skin and Soonyoung's nose scrunches in protest. Wonwoo considers the position Soonyoung's head is in, certain he'll be hearing loud complaints about the inevitable crick of the neck in the morning, but all the cushions within reach are already squished between Soonyoung's body and his current bed.

He weighs the idea of just leaving Soonyoung be and ushering himself off to bed, but the spectre of Soonyoung's pouting face is too strong. Wonwoo rolls his eyes at himself, the only person he can blame, and quickly sheds the thick hoodie he's been wearing to ball into a makeshift pillow. Slowly, he cups Soonyoung's head, tweaking choppy bangs from his face, and lifts him slowly to slip the pillow under.

"Nnn......n...woo?" Wonwoo doesn't freeze, but he does sigh audibly, pulling a guilty smile as Soonyoung stirs, blinking fuzzy half-lidded eyes at him. "...zzzat you?"

"Yeah, shush, go back to sleep," Wonwoo whispers, laying Soonyoung's head down comfortably over his new pillow, hoping Soonyoung will listen and fall back asleep. Soonyoung furrows his brows, slow like he's working through thick mud, and eventually slackens, giving up the ghost to sleep.

"Mm...'kay.... Missed you...."

His breath hitches, but he doesn’t respond, just waits until Soonyoung’s face softens.

Wonwoo closes his eyes and drops his head softly onto the couch arm, careful not to jostle Soonyoung. He wonders what he wants to say, the weight of possibility heavy on his tongue, but his mind is a blank sea in face of Soonyoung's relaxed expression. He watches as Soonyoung's mouth slips open slightly, loose and soft, and wonders what he _should_ be saying.

His eyes slide over thin shoulders, slim and sturdy, and he thinks of a bright smile that he hasn't seen in over a week—an image burned so heavily into memory, impossible to forget. He thinks he should know what to say about the shivers that creep over his spine, the warm that had spread to his fingertips at Soonyoung's muzzy words, but it doesn't come. It brims over his throat, like a buzz that can't be ignored, but it goes no further.

He falls asleep like this, curled up into a ball besides Soonyoung's prone body, and his last thought is that he really needs to get back to work.

 

**i. _in the silence of discourse_ , 201x, gelatin silver prints.**

Soonyoung took a semester abroad their junior year.

Just before he left, they held a small farewell party for him, camping out in a room at his favorite noraebang during lunch hours because Chan had scored a cheap deal with one of the girls who part-timed there. Wonwoo remembers sitting in the dim-lit room with his friends, half falling out of his seat as Seokmin and Jeonghan fought over the microphone to Mingyu's sad love ballad. He remembers Seungcheol and Seungkwan rocking out to Clon's 도시 탈출 while slapping tambourines, laughing until he almost cried when Seungkwan dragged Soonyoung and Chan into an impromptu dance break. He remembers pulling Soonyoung into his side during a short bathroom break and egging him into a sing-off to his favorite SHINee songs, with Soonyoung pulling out all the stops during a heartfelt rendition of Symptoms.

But, mostly he remembers the quiet that swept up when he and Soonyoung had staggered home and collapsed in their living room, pressed together on the couch like lumps. At almost eleven in the evening, they'd stayed out at noraebang for a good six hours and then went for dinner to Soonyoung's favorite guksu place; Wonwoo had to beg both of them out of the continuing festivities, given Jihoon and Seungkwan's almost bottomless appetites.

Not even bothering to turn on the room lights, the two sat in silence, save for the far-off thundering of freight trains barreling down tracks every so often a few kilometers away. Wonwoo kept darting eyes to his roommate, grateful for the dark hiding his stolen glances, but eventually Soonyoung shook himself into motion.

"So, I'll be gone for a whole half year," Soonyoung murmured, sitting up from his slump. His fingers brushed against Wonwoo's crossed ankles, and stayed there.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, a sudden lump appearing right where he swallowed. Soonyoung's fingers flexed against his skin, and he pushed into the touch, hoping for something firmer.

"Are you.... are you gonna be alright? Here, I mean, without me," Soonyoung said after a beat, waiting for Wonwoo to speak and getting nothing. He turned, a sudden jerk that startled Wonwoo into sound, and leant in as if he could see where Wonwoo's face was. "Will you be okay?"

"...I'm always okay," Wonwoo said eventually, blinking into the dark. He felt fingertips dig into him before releasing, leaving him cold. Soonyoung made a sound, a soft 'oh', and sat back.

"...Yeah. I guess, yeah. You're going to be just fine," Soonyoung said faintly. Wonwoo held his breath, feeling like he'd just failed a test of some sort, but Soonyoung shook himself again. "Yeah. You're a grown man now, Jeon Wonwoo, you can take care of yourself."

"I can't help but feel like I'm being insulted here," Wonwoo tried, their usual banter suddenly hard to return to, but there wasn't anything else he could say. Nothing he was able to say, yet.

Soonyoung laughed, and if there was anything different about it, Wonwoo couldn’t tell. He wondered if he wanted there to be. “Well, you know, you did almost burn down our kitchen two different times.”

“I was half-asleep! That’s not fair,” Wonwoo defended, grasping for the lifeline, Soonyoung’s pity throw for re-equilibrium. “Besides, it’s not my fault; _somebody_ stole my glasses the night before to take his shitty selcas and never gave them back.”

“I got over a two hundred and fifty likes on Instagram. I rest my case,” Soonyoung said, smug. Wonwoo rolled his eyes, reaching over to push him lightly. Soonyoung pushed back, but let his hand rest over Wonwoo’s, dropping it down to his own lap. Wonwoo blinked, and waited as Soonyoung tentatively threaded calloused fingers with his, warm palm against his own freezing cold hand.

“You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay,” Soonyoung breathed, wistful.

 _But, I’ll miss you anyway,_ Wonwoo didn’t say. It didn’t sound right.

 

Junior year was quiet.

 

The way he described the project to his cohort group sounds silly, but it feels strong to him. Wonwoo hides his antsiness under his sleeves, pulling the cuffs as far as they can to hide his hands, and waits for feedback.

Nayoung goes first, brows furrowed and even mouth in thought. “So this is about body language, then? What you’re saying, it sounds like you’re going to show us how we communicate with tactility.”

“How are you going to show it, though?” Sooyoung asks, snapping gum idly, but eyes sharp. “Your usual medium is acrylics, isn’t it? Doesn’t that feel too static?”

Wonwoo clears his throat. “No, I’m thinking of branching out. I tried out photography last year, and I think it actually might be a really good format for what I want.” He chews his bottom lip before answering Nayoung’s question. “I think there is definitely body language involved, but it’s not just tactility with another person? It’s how you present yourself, or your conversation in your movements maybe.”

“Can you give us an example?” Jihoon asks quietly, frowning like he’s chewing on something to say.

“Uh, okay. Say, there are two people talking about one of them going somewhere? And the other doesn’t actually say much in actual words, but the way they present themselves to each, how they sit towards each other, how they, uh, do or don’t touch each other?”

“Oh!” Junhui’s sudden exclamation startles him, and Wonwoo turns his head to look at him with wry eyes, everyone else just as amused. Junhui flushes and flaps his hand. “Sorry, no, continue. I just, uh, finally got what you meant.”

“Like something lost in translation, huh?” Jihoon says dryly, locking eyes with Wonwoo.

 

**iv. _the arrival of spring blooms_ , 201x, mixed media on archival print.**

Shin-gyosunim stares at him from her desk, tapping an uncapped pen, and Wonwoo fidgets under the gaze. He’d told her everything about his current progress, and watched as her placid face became smoother and smoother as if she’d been sucking all emotion away until he was staring at a blank wall. Perhaps he should’ve come in with some samples, if only to appease the displeasure brewing underneath her projected calm; too late now, he supposes. Time to face his death.

“Wonwoo-ssi, I want to ask you something, and I want you to answer me as honestly as you can,” she says finally, dry and even, every bit the tone of innocent conversation at the park. Wonwoo straightens up, pushing back his shoulders, and nods, nervous and glad for the wide brim of her desk hiding his frantic fingers. Shin-gyosunim just eyes him and then sighs, leaning in. “What are you hoping to get out of this project? Why did you choose this topic in the first place?”

He swallows, throat dry, and his mouth quivers a little. It takes a few tries to start, and Wonwoo coughs, conscious and small. “I, uh, I wanted to explore what it means to love someone... or something.”

“You know, I’ve had a lot of students in my tenure here,” Shin-gyosunim says casually, leaning back in her armchair and crossing her arms. “I’ve seen quite a few projects with love as their conceit, and to be honest, the more interesting projects were never just solely about ‘love’. Love is such an abstract concept, and trying to pack it all down to one singular show is just stupid.”

“Oh. Uh.” Wonwoo drops his gaze to the table and the woodgrain seems to swirl ever-so violently to the thump of his rising heartbeat. “Should I—Should I, uh, change my theme to something else then?”

She sighs again, and frowns at him. “No, Wonwoo-ssi, I’m not trying to knock your thesis down. I want you to succeed in this show—I think you have a lot of potential for a very strong show, actually.” Wonwoo looks up at this, eyes doe-wide and mouth agape. “Yes, don’t look at me like that. You’ve got some good ideas; but, you’re floundering right now."

“Uh, what should I do then?”

“...Get some rest. Think about it when you’re not running on fumes." Wonwoo blinks at her, and Shin-gyosunim rolls her eyes. “Take a nap, Wonwoo-ssi.”

 

He watches Soonyoung’s mouth move, detached, but the only thing Wonwoo hears is the looping strain of Girls’ Generation’s “Holiday” chorus running through his head. _Ho-ho-holiday, ho-ho-holiday!_ He blinks slowly, and stares on as Soonyoung reaches out for one of his paint mugs, filled with murky brown paint water. Possibly, he should warn Soonyoung before he takes a sip, but Wonwoo’s also half-interested in what paint water could possibly taste like.

The immediate gurgle and sputter is telling.

“That’s not coffee,” he says belated and mild, and Soonyoung flips him off vehemently as he runs to the nearest sink to spit and rinse his mouth.

“You’re an actual monster,” says Jihoon, from his corner of their shared studio space, wry. Wonwoo snorts and gets up, pulling out his headphones, to bring Soonyoung his actual drinking mug.

“It’s not my fault some people can’t read, even with the expensive education they’re wasting thousands of won on,” he says, and Jihoon half-heartedly chucks a crumpled paper ball at him. He dodges easily, and walks around the corner of the space until he finds Soonyoung frantically scrubbing his tongue with a rough paper towel.

“If I have to go to health services because of you, you’re gonna be finding mealworms in your mattress for the next five months,” Soonyoung promises between scrubs, twisting on the faucet and cupping a handful of water to gargle.

“You’d have to actually catch me in bed for once,” Wonwoo says, serene, all his earlier stress gone. He pushes the mug into Soonyoung’s accusing hand, ignoring his sputters, and pats him on the back.

“Listen, if you think I’m gonna fall for this trick again—”

“Read the cup, dumbass.”

Soonyoung does, and makes a face. “You could’ve said so earlier. You could’ve prevented all of this.” Still, his ears burn pink, a clear sign of embarrassment.

“Again, is it my fault you can’t read for shit?” Soonyoung doesn’t respond, just sneers, and Wonwoo knows he’s won. “Anyway, drink that. It’s yuzu tea, good for your throat.”

Soonyoung follows him back to his studio, grumbling under his breath about being lead into a false sense of security. Wonwoo ignores it, but it’s harder to ignore the knowing look that Jihoon gives him before turning back to his own canvas.

“So, what’s this one about, anyway? You’ve got red paint everywhere—are those _knitting needles_? Dude. What the heck?”

Wonwoo runs a hand through his hair, making a face at the greasiness, and fidgets where he stands, watching as Soonyoung curiously peer at his drafted pieces and prod at the different containers of red ink.

“It’s for spring,” he says quietly, and Soonyoung looks at him, expectant and open. “We had a lot of cherry blossoms in Jinhae; mum used to take me and Bohyuk there whenever we visited our grandparents.”

“Aren’t cherry blossoms like just-barely pink, though?” pipes Jihoon from behind, and Wonwoo sighs. “What? I can’t ask?”

“I’m mixing it with other colors, but it’s a motif of mine,” he explains, tired, and Soonyoung hums, setting his mug down to rub strong hands down his back. Wonwoo gives him a grateful look.

“Why cherry blossoms? Is your project all about flowers, then?”

Wonwoo hesitates. “I… I don’t know yet. I have like the bare outline of an idea, but I’m just trying to work through instinct right now.”

"Then, you'll get it in the end, Wonwoo-yah," Soonyoung says, completely sure in his statement. Wonwoo stares at him a bit. "You may flounder, but you always get it in the end. This is no different."

"Yeah," Wonwoo replies in the end, after a long pause. He ignores the look in Jihoon's eyes and meets Soonyoung's unflinching gaze.

Soonyoung smiles.

 

**ii. _an absence of being_ , 201x, gelatin silver prints.**

Wonwoo wakes up to the footsteps of students for morning class and Eunbi’s loud ringing voice, calling for assignments to be handed in, not quite muffled by the wall separating the painting space from the lounge area around the corner. They’re not overly noisy just yet, still setting up canvases and easels by the sound of scraping wood, but Wonwoo forces himself up from the lounge couch anyway, yawning widely as he sits up. His coat he’d used as a makeshift blanket slides onto his lap, and Wonwoo slips his arms into the holes to revel in the warmth a little bit longer.

After he catches himself falling asleep for the second time, Wonwoo shakes himself awake and stands up with a bit-off groan, stretching out his arms and back until he hears the satisfying crack of his bones. Then he hobbles slowly to his studio space, cordoned by solid white walls, and relaxes himself into one of the two armchairs he’d claimed during the free-for-all grab earlier in the semester.

The bright morning sun filters between the blinds by the window walls, framing him with stripes of warm yellow sunlight, and he feels a bit like a cat, soaking up the warmth without shame. It takes another few minutes of just quiet sitting, absorbing the heat while the background chatter of students in morning acrylics trickles through, before Wonwoo feels truly aware and awake. He yawns again, hunches into himself one last time, and then sheds the winter coat, toes curling in his sneakers in a small stretch. He takes a quick peek at the wall clock hanging over the stark white plaster of the studio, the ergonomic numbers a cheery ink-black, minute hand spinning fluidly. Just past eight-thirty, not too bad.

Wonwoo hums to himself, and then stands up, patting the back of his jeans for the telltale bump of his phone. It pulls out easily from his back pocket, warmed from his body heat, and he wipes the screen with a thumb before clicking it on to check for missed messages. There are a few: some KKT messages from Jeonghan and a couple of badges from his calendar, reminders to take his cold medication and to call his mother before the end of the week. There are also a few Instagram notifications, comments from random strangers liking his last posted photo and a continued thread from Soonyoung about the merits of string cheese over sliced, which draws a smile to his face immediately.

The loud screech of wood scraping against tile startles him out of his daze though, probably someone pushing into an easel by mistake, but it's enough to get Wonwoo actually moving. He sets his phone down on his long print table, careful not to mess up any of the drying prints splayed out, and grabs a paper cup from the bundle of utensils and supplies on the shared rack of shelves serving as the divider between his and Jihoon's spaces. A quick pop to the row of lockers propped against the bulletin board by the lounge rewards him his emergency toothbrush and a half-rolled tube of toothpaste. He debates whether to use the sink by the painting station, wary of being stared at by curious freshmen, but the second closest sink is all the way down in the basement by the shooting studios, and it's bitterly cold around this time in the morning. A shiver runs down his back, just thinking about having to hop in the chill while he goes about his morning routine.

Wonwoo takes a breath to steel himself and then walks out of his studio purposefully, clutching his paper cup and toothbrush and paste to his chest. He sidles into the lounge space, creeping up to the corner where the painting station and lounge meets, and pokes his head around to check that the students are mostly focused on their own work. Only a few people catch sight of him, and they give him curious glances before he waves them off with a small smile, nodding to Eunbi, who's slowly patrolling through the maze of easels. One girl smirks and points to the sink off by the shelves of opened paint can, and he nods sheepishly, caught.

"If you're gonna brush your teeth, Wonwoo-ssi, stop hovering in the corner and distracting my students and just do it," says Eunbi dryly, arms folded. Wonwoo lets out a laugh, called out, and walks into the space with his hands raised in surrender.

"Sorry, sorry, I was trying to avoid doing just that too," he says apologetically, but Eunbi just snorts, amused and unfazed.

"It's not like this is the first time you've done this; I think it's safe to say we all expect to see your looming body every other morning," she says, and Wonwoo huffs another laugh when her students murmur in cheeky agreement.

“The curse of being a senior, you know?” he says with a shrug, and Eunbi accepts this with a sympathetic nod.

"I feel like the day hasn't really started until we see sunbae-nim in the cornering washing his face," says one of the students, a tall girl with a short bob and a half-finished still-life. Another, sitting next to her and propping up a canvas of shaded wheels, titters and nods.

"I've honestly come to look forward to seeing sunbae-nim's shining face in the mornings. Makes waking up at seven AM worth the effort," she loud-whispers, voice carrying over the room, and Wonwoo wants to hide his bright red face from the wave of catcalls erupting.

"All right, all right, settle down, squirts, get back to work. Those canvases aren't going to paint themselves," Eunbi calls out, clapping a hand for silence. The students subside, but a few snicker here and there, and Eunbi rolls her eyes before jerking her chin to the sink pointedly at Wonwoo. He goes with a press of his palms, apologetic and thankful, and does his best to run through his morning wash as fast as he can, sneaking a glance at the overhanging clock by the wood plank shelves.

After a quick rinse and furiously brushing his gums and canines with a mouthful of toothpaste, Wonwoo slaps a handful of water against his face, ice-cold and bracing on his skin and the final wake-up call to his body. He does this three times, loud splashing muffled by the running faucet, but he can tell Eunbi's losing patience with him by the way she starts humming during her go-arounds, each time a little louder as she passes him by. He grabs blindly for the paper towel dispenser, pulling sheet after sheet out until he's got a good handful, and wipes his face clean, making a face at the scratch of rough paper against his cheeks.

When he's mostly dry, Wonwoo quickly tosses his cup and hightails back to the safety of his studio, the chirp of goodbyes from Eunbi's freshmen following after him. Eunbi's own dry voice calls after him, reaching over the corner.

"See you again on Wednesday, Wonwoo-ssi!"

 

It’s a Saturday night, and Wonwoo has been in the darkroom for at least two hours by himself when Soonyoung finally drops by with his proffered tray of coffee cups. The swish of Soonyoung’s gym shorts belay his presence, loud enough to hear over the running water of the filter bins from the next room over, and Wonwoo makes sure his gelatin sheets are safely tucked away before he slips out of the room and into the photography lab. It takes a minute for his eyes to adjust to the fluorescent white of the lightbulbs, and he rubs them gingerly, knuckling under the rims of his glasses.

“How was dance practice?” he asks after a moment, blinking fuzzily at Soonyoung, who’s perched against one of the low tables of the room. Soonyoung gives him a shrug, eyes creased softly, but Wonwoo blinks again, and the unreadable expression is gone.

“Got our new choreo for the dance comp finally,” Soonyoung says, drumming fingers on the side of the table, dropping his hands back behind him to support his weight. “Thought Minghao was gonna kill someone when some of the newbies kept messing up the air flares.” He gives Wonwoo a wry smile, bringing up a hand to cup his next words. “Minghao-goon’s a bit of a control freak when it comes to his parts.”

Wonwoo snorts softly. “That’s really pot-meets-kettle right there, Soonyoung.” The boy just scrunches his nose in a playful grin and pushes the tray of coffee towards him. Wonwoo goes to it gratefully, hands curling around the closest cup, and he pulls it out with a gentle jerk before bringing it to his face to inhale. The bitter smell of espresso wafts over him, fogging up his lenses a bit from the heat, and he slips his eyes close to savor the small joy.

“Anyway, how’s the processing going? You got any good shots yet for your show?” Soonyoung asks, casual, and Wonwoo hums, a non-answer. "You've been staying here in the building so much, I don't think I've even seen you come back home except to get a change of clothes and maybe shower."

"If only the art building would install a built-in shower, then I’d never leave," Wonwoo confirms with a grin. He takes a small sip from the cup and makes a face, the acrid taste of untampered coffee strong and heavy on his tongue. "God, I keep forgetting how much I hate the taste of coffee."

Soonyoung stares at him for a minute with deadpan eyes. "Wonwoo, you have four straight cups of Americano here."

“It’s not a taste thing; it’s a _caffeine_ thing,” Wonwoo says pointedly, rolling his eyes.

“You can’t just sleep at a reasonable time?” Soonyoung counters, equally sarcastic. Wonwoo just sticks his tongue out at him before walking back into the darkroom. Soonyoung’s voice follows after him. “That’s a real mature response, assface!”

“Sleep is for the weak, Soonyoung-ssi!” he yells back. He hears the tell-tale shuffle of Soonyoung’s steps, and swivels around to meet him. “Phone away if you’re gonna sit in, you know the drill.”

“You ruin an exposure once, and suddenly you’re banned for life,” Soonyoung grumbles, but obliges, grabbing a stool from the deep-end of the room to sit by Wonwoo’s enlarging station.

"It was three exposures, actually, and I had to wake up Jinhee-noona to ask if I could borrow her sheets because those had been my last few gelatin sheets."

Soonyoung clicks his teeth. "She should've been grateful for the early morning wake-up call."

"It was four in the morning," Wonwoo says dryly. "Just admit you were wrong, Soonyoung, let it go."

After that, Soonyoung lets him be, waits silently by the stool as Wonwoo selects the next strip he wants enlarged and adjusts his focusing lenses. The background music of Soonyoung's tetris app provides comfortable background music, and Wonwoo finds himself working in beat to the jaunty toon. Every now and then, he can hear the swipe of blocks clicking and bases clearing, Soonyoung's triumphant exhales accompanying the noise, and he lets the mix of sounds lull him.

He does ten different exposures, slipping them immediately into the developer one by one after the light hits. Each print gets washed and then dipped into fixer for thirty seconds each, and then floated into the running tub of water to wash again. He sets the timer on his phone for a good ten minutes, and then heads out of the developing room, waving at Soonyoung to follow him.

"Do you wanna see some of the ones I already did?" he asks, suddenly shy and hesitant.

Soonyoung blinks owlishly, eyes readjusting to the bright lights, and then gives him an unimpressed look. "Dude. I _always_ wanna see what you do! What are you being so shy for?"

"Shut up, I'm just. It's a new topic, and I'm trying something different, okay," Wonwoo mumbles, leading him to the drying racks. He counts silently with a finger trailing down the shelves until he finds his numbered rack and gently pulls it out.

It _is_ different—Wonwoo is known for his portraits and dynamic photography of people in motion. His go-to shots usually involve a display of emotion through his subjects, but in the drying shots that he shows Soonyoung, each print is empty of people, showing only the remains of a presence having once been. One print shows a bed unmade, pillow clearly crumpled and creases lined around the shape of a head, and the slanted fall of blankets pushed away. The bed-stand in the corner has accessories and miscellaneous objects, but it all emphasizes the lack of a presence. Another print has the leftovers of a meal and chairs haphazardly pushed in, crumbs dotting either sides of the table and a tray with leftover paper.

He waits for a response, and Soonyoung obliges him freely, humming. "Oh, these are really nice! You're doing like a spaces no longer occupied kind of situation, right?"

"...Yeah. Sort of." Wonwoo chews on his lips before answering thickly, "These are just test shots. I wanted to see how they came out with my light ratios before I do the actual prints I'm gonna use for my presentation."

"Okay, cool. What made you think of doing this?" Soonyoung asks, tilting his head.

"...Just, junior year gave me some ideas."

**Author's Note:**

> i struggled a lot over this fic, even though the original parameters were just to explore wonwoo's practice in art through my own personal (academic) experiences from uni LOL
> 
> all wonwoo's projects, though they may not be described very well or thoroughly, are based on existing bodies of work, some of which were from my own portfolio, but i decided not to include imagery because i wanted it to be up to the readers' imaginations.
> 
> please, if you liked or enjoyed reading this, consider leaving a comment! :') i would love to hear your thoughts on it, even if it isn't the fic i'd intended 2 exist hahaha


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